Kendy: Unrequited
by Madcow5678
Summary: “Such pretty colours...the orange and purple...they look like...they belong together. Like they were made to go together.” KennyxWendy
1. Chapter 1

**Yeah. I have a sudden liking for Kendy...it's just a cute pairing, albeit complete crack. I actually wrote this a while ago. But I rewrote bits, and figured it was no worse than my other stuff.  
**

**Not sure to whether to keep this as the oneshot/drabble it is, or to use it as a prologue for a story. Any comments or suggestions either way would be appreciated. Plus reviews are always awesome.**

**South Park** **© Matt 'n' Trey**

I watch her from our spot next to the wall near the lockers. She is fucking gorgeous. Long, shiny black hair looking like something out of a shampoo ad, yellow skirt, which, on any other girl would look like something out of Old Yeller, but on her, looks divine (and shows what a nice ass she has, which is always a good thing in my book), lilac jacket, hiding that shirt she wears, that looks like the retarded unicorn on it is barfing stars. And the eyes.

God, there should be a warning about those eyes. Or at least, about those eyes looking into yours, gorgeous chocolate brown meeting the fucked up cyanide blue colour that yours are, while she says she loves you, making your heart pound, and whatever worries you have in your head instantly vanish. There should be a warning about those eyes that fill up with tears, and refuse to meet yours, two days later; when she says that it just can't happen. Not ever.

If I were a complete emo pussy, I would be crying now. Possibly while slashing my lily-white hands with a switchblade and enjoying the sick pleasure it would give me. But this is the real world. In the real world, my hands are rough-skinned, and tanned, and would heal any wound the next time I died. In the real world, self-harming is pointless and self-indulgent, something I don't have time for. In the real world, you just deal with things and move on.

Especially if your name happens to be Kenny McCormick.


	2. Chapter 2

**Um, yeah. Chapter Two. I had it in my mind, and it just wouldn't leave me alone, so I had to write it.**

**I have no idea if all this is in character. If anyone reviews (doubtful, although not impossible, I guess), I'd appreciate feedback on whether or not it is. Actually I'd appreciate any feedback or comments at all, even flames, so long as they're orignal flames, and not the crappy, unoriginal copy-and-paste kind.**

**South Park and it's characters © Matt 'n' Trey**

**Oh yeah. JVM-SP150 , since you were my only reviewer for the prologue, this is for you. Now I just hope to God you don't hate it. Meh...**

Social Studies sucks. Majorly.

No other class would wind up with me having to invite Wendy Testaburger back to my place, just so we can both get a passing grade. God, Garrison's an asshole-what other teacher would ask for 3 hours' worth of work outside of school hours.

I asked Wendy why the Hell we couldn't just go back to her's instead. Save her the trials and tribulations of having to endure my family for the evening, and me the embarrassment of having the hottest girl in the class see the huge stack of Playboys that doubles as a table next to my bed. Her answer was that was that her house was being fumigated. How fucking convenient.

Maybe I'll die before we get there. Then she can go home. Actually, having said that, she's so obsessed with doing the right thing and with getting good grades (She's almost as bad as Kyle, and that's saying something), that she'd probably drag my sorry carcase back to my house and wait for me to resurrect just so that she can keep her grade point average as high as it is.

We get off the bus, a few blocks away from my house. We walk for a couple of minutes in silence. I guess I should try and make conversation, or something, considering we've got to spend at least 3 hours together.

"So…uh…we should be there in about five minutes"

She nods, "I think we should get straight on with it. Get it done while our brains are still concentrating on school stuff."

School stuff? I haven't been thinking of school stuff since lunch. Her mind might be on social studies; mine is filled with thoughts of boobs, girls in general, whether or not my parents will embarrass me (looking decidedly likely at this point), and how gross that wart on the caretaker's neck was.

I nod anyway. Unfortunately, a whole two minutes have passed since she said it, and Wendy looks at me weirdly. I pretend I have a crick in my neck, and pull my parka slightly tighter so she can't see that I'm blushing. Fuck's sake. Since when do I ever _blush_? Must be something wrong with me.

We turn the corner that leads onto my street. It suddenly seems to be get colder. Wendy pulls her jacket tighter around her, and I shove my hands into my pockets.

I hear it from the end of the street. I've heard it for most of the time I've been alive, and I'm usually glad to hear it. But God help me, why today?

"You fucking uncaring drunk bastard! Won't go to your own son's parent/teacher conference!"

"What's the fucking point in me going, when I had that dickhead, Mackay phoning me last week to tell me he's playing psp in class? Waste of fucking time!"

My parents WOULD have to be having an argument-cum-fistfight right when Wendy's here. When we're meant to be doing a project on domestic violence.

"Well fine, Stuart! You go and hang out in that shithole of a bar! See if I give a fuck, you chauvenistic son of a whore!"

"Shut the hell up, y'skank!"

My mom sucker-punches my dad at this point. Right on cue, my brother and sister come out of the house to laugh like idiots at this regular occurance. Which they proceed to do.

My dad hits my mom straight back, so she scratches at him with her nails, I pity my dad. Those nails are sharp.

I sneek a glance at Wendy, to see if she's visibly disgusted or not. Most people tend to be.

Her expression's hard to read. Her brow's furrowed, and she's pouting her lips slightly. Not the typical "ZOMG-these-people-are-demonic-abusive-white-trash" face, but I don't think she's casually ignoring the fighting, like some people (Lizzy and her dad/my uncle and Butters, because goodness only knows his parents would ground him if he made any sort of comment about anything).

I put a hand on Wendy's arm and steer her towards my house, where my mom and dad are still hitting and shouting obscenities at each other. My mom is the first to notice us,

"YOU LOW-LIFE, NO- G-oh, hey Kinny. Who's your friend?"

"This is Wendy. We're doing a project together. Garrison made us"

My dad mutters something along the lines of "sick queer," but stops at my mom's look. I doubt my dad actually has that much of a problem with homosexuals (when they're not raping him), but Garrison manages to piss him off. He used to keep making comments about how nice my dad's ass was, before turning lesbian and saying how my dad was a filthy example of massively inflated male ego (Goodnight everybody!) with too much power. Now Garrison's (apparently) a hetro male once more, he's taken to remarking about how he'd do my mom any day of the week. To my face and my dad's.

My sister chips in at this point,

"She's pretty. She your girlfriend?"

"No Kazzy, she's not my girlfriend."

"Do you want to fuck her?"

"...Shut up, Karen!"

My female sibling starts to giggle,

"You do, don'tcha?"

"I SAID, SHUT IT, YOU L'IL BITCH!"

Karen smirks, and says to Kevin, in a conspiratorial way, "Told ya."

I give my sister a light smack in the back of her head and drag Wendy inside.

"Sorry about that....uh....my sister. She doesn't know what it means; she just says things she hears other people saying...Thinks it makes her sound older."

"Oh, it's okay. She's just a little kid."

Yeah, a little kid. Who's known the definition of the word, "fuck" since she was four.

"Well, we should start about now. Where do you usually do your homework, Kenny?"

On the bus to school. Or at Stan or Kyle's. Cartman's if I'm desperate. My house is good for lots of things. Just not homework.

"Uh...I uh...tend to just, y'know, do it wherever; I don't really...."

"Oh. Well. We could always go up to your room?"

"No!"

I can just imagine how Wendy would react to my room. She's such a feminist. And I've seen her beat the fucking shit out of Cartman. I don't really want to die at her hand. Looks awfully painful.

Wendy looks at me, strangely. I don't really blame her.I did just practically scream in her face.

"Sorry. M-my room's kind of untidy. And there's nowhere to sit down."

Least that part's true.

"The kitchen's probably the best place, I guess."

Wendy shrugs, "Okay then."

I lead her through, and motion for her to sit down. I see her taking everything in: last night's plates still in the sink, one with the ex-waffle, which someone didn't eat, congealing into mush; the cabinets with the doors falling off; the pieces of broken glass that no one's been bothered to pick up. She doesn't say anything, which I'm grateful for. If she did say something, I couldn't hit her or tell her to shut the fuck up, like I can with Cartman, whenever he starts.

Wendy starts rifling through her bag, pulling out hundreds of sheets, and folders and notes. How the fuck does she fit it all in there? Her bag's not that big, yet some of those folders are huge. It's like something out of Mary Poppins (well, from what I've seen of it-It was four years ago when I saw part of it, then the TV we had back then combusted very suddenly, and I died).

I wonder about trying to tidy the kitchen up real quick, but decide against it. If I do, the rest of the house'll just look a whole lot filthier.

There's a loud creaking sound, as one of the stupid cabinet doors rocks on it's (broken) hinge, and then falls off, and then lands on the table, about an inch from Wendy with a loud clatter. She sucks in her breath sharply at the noise, and looks up at me in alarm.

"Yeah, sorry. They do that. Just leave it-my dad'll sort it sometime."

"Really? He seemed kind of...busy to me," Wendy says, in an arched tone of voice.

Oh boy...

"If you mean what's happening outside, it's okay, you know. If it gets really out of hand, someone'll call the cops anyway."

"Kenny, it is not "okay"! Your dad is outside, fighting with your mother. He is using his strength to attempt to physically harm her! This is exactly the sort of thing we're supposed to be researchi-"

"Dude, I don't know if you saw, but Mom threw the first punch. She started it. And last I noticed, she was winning. Just 'cause she's the woman, don't mean she's the victim."

"Kenny, it's okay you know. To admit that your dad has violence issues. There's help out there. If your mom can bring herself to leave him, then the abuse would stop an-"

I put my hand over her mouth, and look at her, "Wendy. It's not like that. Seriously."

She looks at me, enquiringly. Telling me to go on. I think she's wondering whether or not to castrate me. I did just argue with her. A lot.

Ehh...maybe I'm not being fair. All I know about her is :

She's Stan's on/off girlfriend

She made Cartman's face look as though it'd been shoved through a meat grinder

She is class president, and can debate like no one's business

She's pretty damn hot

She's still looking at me. Not saying a word, but telling me to justify my argument, or to face her bitching at me some more.

"My mom and dad met at a party. He was 20: She was 12. He was drunk and horny: She lied to him and told him she was older than she was. Two weeks later, Mom found out she was pregnant, got chucked out of her house by her dad. She went to my dad, and told him if he didn't want anything to do with the kid, that'd be fine, as long as he sent a cheque once in a while. He looked after her. He loved her! When Kevin got born, he still did, and the same with me! The same when Karen was born, even though she was sick all the time and everyone thought she wasn't going to live longer than six months! The same now! And yeah, they fight? So what?! She fights just as much as him! She hits him back, and shouts just as loud! Still, they love each other! Still, they love us!! But people just can't fucking see that! Whenever they see my dad, all they can think of is, "Oh there's that fucking hick, who beats his wife, and doesn't take care of his children!"

Wendy looks a bit nervous now. I don't tend to talk this much. I rarely ever shout, but I am doing now. She tries to calm me down, "Kenny I know-"

"No! You don't! You really, really don't! And why should you? You live your perfect, sheltered life, with your perfect family, and nothing bad ever happens to you! And then when you see something that you can't explain, you think it's bad!"

Wendy looks at me, her eyes staring deep into mine, "You're right."

...I can safely say I wasn't expecting that.

"You're right. And...and I'm sorry." Her eyes are moist, like she's about to cry. She bites her lip, "It's true, I let myself make stupid, unfounded premature assumptions. I'm sorry," a tear falls down her cheek, and I instantly feel like the biggest asshole in the universe.

"I'm sorry too, Wends. I shouldn't have been such a dick about it, even if you were wrong about my family."

She sniffs. Oh God. I remember now why I don't talk much. 'Cause this fucking happens when I do.

"Aw, c'mere." I put my arms around her, and give her a hug, "Wendy, it's okay, honestly."

"Kenny?"

"Mmm?"

"Your parents are awesome"

Just to spoil the Kodiac moment, my dad comes in, glances at us, shrugs, goes over to the fridge, peers inside, and looks instantly annoyed,

"Carol! Why the hell don't we have any milk?"

"Because you didn't go to the store and get more, you fucking dumbass!"

"Why don'tcha come here an' say that?!"

"Alright I will!"

Within about a minute, my parents are shouting and slapping anew. I look at Wendy, who's now gone and attempted to start working again.

"We're not gonna get any work done in here now,"

"Well, where else is there?"

"I know a little place..."

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.

"Kenny, are you sure this is safe?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. Now give me your hands and I'll pull you up!"

Wendy thrusts her hands into mine. They're small, and, for some reason, really soft. As in, insanely, freakishly soft. I pull with all my strength, and after a few seconds, and me nearly dropping her, I manage to pull Wendy up onto the roof next to me.

" Nearly drop me, will you?"

"Bebe told you not to eat that Hershey bar at lunch. You should have listened," I smirk

She slaps my arm jokingly, and then looks at the view we have of the sunset properly,"Oh Kenny, it's beautiful!"

"Yeah, it's pretty cool, I guess"

"Such pretty colours...the orange and purple...they look like...they belong together. Like they were made to go together."

I don't know what it is about those words. But something about them makes my heart beat that little bit faster...

I knew I shouldn't have eaten that cat food, banana and alphalfa sprout sandwich that Cartman bet me $10 I couldn't this lunch time...


	3. Chapter 3

**Sorry, I totally meant to update sooner. Unfortunately life got in the way. I can't decide whether I like this or not. Help me make my decision and review?**

**Speaking of reviews, the ones I got for chapter one were some of the nicest I've ever gotten. Thank you so much!**

**Caturday, akissfordonnie. and JVM-SP150** **This is for you guys. And Willow, for putting up with me bugging her for ideas every five minutes.**

**I own nothing: South Park and it's characters © Matt Stone and Trey Parker.**

The next day, school seems...strange. Nothing unusual's happening: Cartman's still being a fat asshole, Kyle's still standing up for the underdog and getting pissy at anything Cartman says, Stan's still being the normal kid of the lot of us...

Yet, something's different. And I don't just mean me getting an A+ for the project me and Wendy did, instead of just squeaking by with a C+/B- like normal.

It could just be me, but I actually think it's _Wendy_ that's different. Don't get me wrong, she's not really _acting_ different-She blew a gasket at Cartman's comment at lunchtime ("Who was the best Jewish chef? Hitler"), as did Kyle. I think, between the pair of them, Kyle and Wendy have managed to bruise Cartman in at least twelve different places today.

No, what I mean is, Wendy is slightly different in herself. It's not really noticeable or anything, but she has a new look about her: something in her eyes, I think. I only really noticed when I found myself looking in her direction for the third time in an hour. She looked back at me, glancing up from the pad she was doodling on.

That's the other thing: Wendy. Was. Doodling. She never slacks off in class, no matter how stupid the lessons are (Today's was a pretty...interesting one: A two-hour long lecture on Garrison's theory of how Obama wants to corrupt the world with his evil biracial schemes. He is apparently behind the spread of swine flu, and his idea of making school days longer is so the entire population of American children will contract the disease, and will make the population as a whole more susceptible to Obama's ideas. Michael Jackson tried to foil Obama's evil plan, and was killed by the president's Don Bluth-esqe minions) (I stopped listening at that point, although I'm sure Miley Cyrus was mentioned somewhere). 'Cept for today, which considering the lesson, was probably for the best, in my opinion.

When I get home, my parents, who today are acting like teenagers and won't stop giggling while hastily cramming stuff into a suitcase. Oh, did they not tell us? Well, they're going to Oklahoma for a week...maybe two, they haven't decided yet. Me and my brother and sister will be fine, won't we? 'Course we'll be, now Stuart, where the fuck is the fucking soap?

Me and the siblings make our way outside, to see our parents off. Or, rather, to see my dad drop the (admittedly pretty heavy) suitcase on his foot, and let rip with a rather interesting stream of curse words, that Stan's grandpa hears, causing him to yell at Dad out the window to shut the fuck up-he's trying to watch MacGyver.

As this is happening, Mom hugs us all,

"Alrigh', now you three be good. Kevin: try not to do anythin' stupid, and take care of your brother and sister. Kenny: Leave the matches alone, and don't you go tryin' t'get high off'a stuff. Karen:...Just be a good girl. Here's $20 to get food. For dinner, you're to go to the Marshes on Tuesdays, the Broflovski's on Thursdays and yer Uncle Luke's on Wednesdays. Now, you ain't t'spend all that money at once-make it LAST! A'ight?"

We nod innocently. As she turns to get in the truck, Kevin turns to me and Karen, grins wickedly and mouths, "Colonel tonight!"

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.

Fast forward to this evening. It's ballsing it down with rain, and none of us really feel like being rained on in our separate rooms, so we all drag our bedclothes through to the living room, watch wrestling, and eat KFC like we haven't eaten in months. The chicken's gone within about twenty minutes, and our fingers and lips are greasy as hell. We've also spent all the money Mom gave us for food, and we'll have to live on frozen waffles, poptarts and the goodness of other people's hearts until our parents get back. Whatever, it was worth it.

Kevin swigs from the bottle of Pepsi that the nice people at KFC were good enough to give away "free" with every $20 bucket. While he's gulping it down, he chokes, and spits half of it back into the bottle.

"Aw, Kevin, that's gross! Now Kenny an' me can't drink it!"

"Yeah, sick dude!"

The TV flickers. Annoyed, Kevin gets up and hits it, as him and dad (and me, I must confess) do with everything that doesn't work properly. Unfortunately, this has a less than desirable effect, as the TV signal is drowned out by shash. Kevin hits it again, and the damned thing stops working all together.

"Goddamnit!"

"S'not my fault! It was bein' stupid!"

I open my mouth to say something, but stop as I hear a distant rumbling. I hold my breath, and then it comes again. I glance at Karen. Her eyes are open wide, and she's biting her lip. I look to my brother, who's noticed our sister too. He has an, "Oh fuck" expression on his face, which I'm pretty sure is on mine as well.

I should take this point to explain (if it wasn't already horribly obvious), that Karen is scared of thunderstorms. Actually, that's not true-it's more like she's petrified of them. It's because when I was 6 and she was 3, a bolt of lightning struck me through the hole in the ceiling in my room. It set my mattress on fire, and me with it. It was a pretty painful way to go, actually. Took ages for me to actually die. I don't remember much about it, apart from that it was agony, and that in the midst of me writhing in pain, the three-year-old version of my sister wandered in, took one look at me and began screaming her head off before fainting in a rather dramatic fashion.

She's not scared of anything else, I don't think. Give her spiders, clowns, snakes, rats, pigeons, she's fine with all of them. But thunder and lightning? Turns her into a nervous wreck. They make her have panic attacks and she gets so terrified that a couple of times she's fainted again, or made herself ill with fear. The only people that can calm her down, even slightly, are our parents...who...aren't here.

God, my parents are fucking irresponsible.

I decide to at least try and keep my baby sister from driving herself mad with worry. What else are brothers for?

"Kazzy? You wanna come and sit over here with us? Mom said we could call her if we wanted, so you can talk to her and Dad if you're a bit scared."

She shrugs, and gets up, and says, sounding pretty unconvincing, "I'm not scared. Douchebag."

"Whatever. Switch that lamp on, while you're up, will you?"

She flicks the switch, and me and Kevin both cringe as the light turns on for a fraction of a second, then goes out again with a bang. As do the rest of the lights and electrical appliances. As the thunder rolls again, louder than before.

Oh God.

Karen whimpers, and sits back down again with a thud, pulling her knees up to her chest, and hugging her arms around her. Her eyes squeeze shut, and her breath comes quick, rough, uneven. Another clap of thunder comes, closer than the last, and she starts to rock back and forth on her haunches. Me and Kevin exchange worried looks, before squatting down in front of our sister in the darkness. Kev reaches for her hand, to try and hold it to reassure her, but she pulls away with a noise that's halfway between a gasp and a sob.

"Kaz. Come on, it's okay, the storm won't hurt you. We're here. It's gonna be over soon, I promise."

"Yeah, anyway, if anything does happen, it'll be to Kenny an-"

"Oh nice going, dumbass!"

"'s the truth. You die all the time."

"Shut up! You're making her worse, idiot!"

I know Kevin means well; he always does. Just wish he'd think before he opens his damn mouth is all. He really is making her worse. Karen Hayley McCormick doesn't cry but she's blinking back tears now. Fuck.

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.

Why can't I breathe?...darkness is pressing in on me.

Stop being stupid, Karen. You're being weak. You're not weak.

**Ican'tbreathe**

So why do I have tears in my eyes... why can't I breathe?

I want my mom or my daddy.

**Ican'tbreathe**

Thunder...lightening... coming, coming to get me. Why won't they just leave me alone?

Coming closer...gonna kill me...please leave me alone...

**Ican'tbreathe, Ican'tbreathe, Ican'tbreathe....**

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.

I have to think of something. But what? The electricity's gone (third time this month-it's what you get when your dangerously unqualified dad does the wiring, since him and your mom refuse to fork out for "one o' them hoity toity electricians")...but wait...there's lights on at Stan's, which they left on when they went out...maybe it's just our house...The phonebox! I'll call Mom and Dad and they'll tell me what to do!

"Kev! Stay there. Try 'n'...make her better or sommin'"

I run to the phone box, praying that no one's smashed it up beyond repair, or died next to it or something. Thankfully, God must be listening, because it's in full working order, with no line. I run inside, not stopping for anything. I take out 50 cents from my pocket, punch in the number of the place Mom and Dad're staying. As the phone starts to ring, I find myself hoping to whichever deity is listening that my parents aren't in some form of compromising sexual situation. Because 1) that would suck and 2) they won't pay any attention if they are,

"'llo?"

"Mom?!"

"Kinny, that you?"

"Yeah, it's me. Now listen-"

"Yeah, if you could just....and then I can git it in..."

"Mom, seriously, listen to me. It's Karen."

I hear my dad's voice, "That in far enough?"

"Just a l'il...oh God, yeah!"

"MOM! LISTEN!! Karen's having a panic attack and I need to know what to do!"

Giggling. And some deep breathing. And growling, followed by more giggling and what sounds like the creaking of mattress springs. Lord help me.

I start to try to get my stupid, sexed-up parents to listen again, when the money runs out, and the phone cuts off.

Damnit. I need help! But who? Stan's out with his family for the evening...Kyle's having his dad's brother round for dinner or something...Cartman: I'm not even going to go there...Butters wouldn't know what to do, and his parents have told him to stay away from us anyway...Ditto Token...Craig still isn't speaking to me or the guys, since the whole Peru episode...Tweek would just freak out like always...Clyde's folks refuse to answer the door or phone after 9:30 for some strange reason...Kevin Stoley'd probably just make obscure sci-fi referrences and not actually help any...who the hell else is there?!

_Wendy._

No, that's retarded. I'm not calling Wendy. It's almost 11, and anyway, I barely know her.

_But she'll know what to do. She took First Aid classes for the whole of 3__rd__ Grade, and tried to force Garrison into making them a part of the curriculum, remember?_

Why the fuck would she care? Why would she make the effort for me?

_Just fucking call her before your baby sister passes out or something, you fucking idiot!!_

I scrabble around in my pockets, before finding Wendy's number that she wrote down for me yesterday ("in case you need help with anything, any time"). I pull out the scrap of notebook paper, and flinch, as more thunder sounds, closer than ever.

I punch in the number, and curse the world, as the phone starts to ring.

I'm about to slam the phone down in frustration when-

"Hello?"

"Wendy?"

"Yes...who is-"

"Kenny...my sister...thunder...and we...but she...and...just please come!!!"

"...huh? Kenny, what're-"

"Just please, get to my house! As fast as you can! PLEASE!!"

"I'll be there."

"Thank you!!"

I sprint back home, fumble with the door handle which is wet and slippery through my the living room, Kevin's knelt in front of our sister. She's worse than before: visibly trembling now,with sweat on her brow. Her breathing is completely ragged, and irregular. The tears that I saw a minute ago are making their way down her face.

Kevin looks up at me with pleading eyes. He doesn't know what to do. None of us fucking do. The coolness of being left on our own's melted away now. We're just a bunch of messed-up kids who have no idea how to deal with this stupid shitty situation.

"I called Wendy...coming as soon as she can."

He opens his mouth to say something, but decides against it, shakes his head, and turns his attention back to the hunched-up form before us on the ratty carpet.

"Karrie, come on, it'll be okay. Wendy's comin'. Y'know, that girl who was here yesterday, that you said was pretty? She'll be here any minute, I promise."

No answer. She gulps, sounding like she's choking.

Banging at the door. We all jump, and Karen grips the sleeves of her jacket tighter. Her knuckles are white and her eyes are still pressed shut. I get up, and fling the door open. Wendy's standing there, soaking wet, with her hair tangled and her beret falling off. She looks beautiful, but I don't have time to dwell on this. I practically drag her over to where my sister is. I don't know why I don't say anything to her, but I suppose I don't really have to. She looks at my sister,

"How long has she been this way?"

"Five minutes? Maybe longer?" Whatever it is, it feels like eternity.

She takes another look. Worry passes over her face, but is quickly replaced with calm determination. She motions for me and Kev to move, as she takes our place.

"What's her name?"

"Karen. Kazzie or Karrie if you want"

"Karen?"

My sister looks up with her eyes wide open.

"I know you're really scared right now, and I know it's horrible-"

"'m gonna die...I don't wanna die."

"I'm going to try and help you, okay? You trust me, right?"

Karen nods.

"Okay. Now, I want you to take deep breaths. Try and make them really steady, as steady as you can manage."

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.

I...don't want to be here. I know how horrible that sounds, but I really don't. Maybe it's just because it's dark, and their electricity's not working, and there's bed clothes, chicken bones and empty take-out boxes everywhere. Maybe it's because there's a little girl who's pretty much hysterical with fear hunched over on the floor, and I'm worried that I'll not be able to help maybe, although I doubt it, it's because Kenny's looking at me with those big blue eyes, and I know I have to do something.

Oh God...What do I do?

Relax Wendy, think back to your training...which admittedly, you only took because you thought it would mean that you could cure Stan of his little...problem-but that's not the point.

"K-Karen?"

Why am I stuttering? She lifts her head and opens her eyes. Oh God.

Why does she have to have the exact same eyes as Kenny? Large irises, kind of a cerulean blue colour-not like ordinary blue eyes, like Stan's-lighter and brighter, and completely captivating...

Get a grip, girl-you're not hear to admire people's eyes. You're here to help Kenny, because he needs you to and not because of his nice eyes, and when you have, you are going to go back home and continue with your life.

Karen's not doing it. It's not working. Instead of breathing deeply, to ease the stress, she's just panicking more. In the moonlight shining through the rips in the curtains, her skin looks almost do I do now? They never tell you what to do if Plan A doesn't work.

The only thing I remember is that you shouldn't take people who are having panic attacks to hospital, because it supposedly freaks them out even more. I highly doubt it's possible for Kenny's sister to be in any worse of a state than she is now, but I can remember is how to treat someone in shock, for some reason...That's it! In one of the books I was required to read for the first aidcourse, it said that shock can occasionally be caused by fear!

"Karen."

She doesn't respond. Oh God, doesn't that mean they're not getting enough oxygen? Or is that if they overreact to statements...? No, no, pull yourself together, Wendy, it's okay. Just get Kenny to open one of those windows-you remember all the rest, don't you?

"Kenny: open a window, would you?And can you or your brother go and mix a teaspoon of salt with half a teaspoon of baking soda in a quart of lukewarm water for me? I think she's in shock-the salt and soda should help"

I know they're poor, but surely they have baking soda. I'm pretty sure they have salt...I hope they do, at any rate.

The older brother (Kevin, is it?) blinks, looking confused. Kenny nods in the direction of the window as he stands and briskly walks through to the kitchen where we hugged yesterday. The cabinet door is still on the table-I can see it from where I'm standing. Kevin fiddles with the catch of the window for a few seconds before realising it's stuck, and forcing the window open with his shoulder.

Whilst this is happening, I pick up one of the comforters that's lying around and spread it the length of the floor. They don't seem to have any pillows though...I pull off my own jacket and roll it up in an approximation of a cushion. It's really cold without it, but this is more important. I then hunch down behind Karen and whisper in her ear,

"Please. Keep breathing for me."

Kenny comes back into the room, with a glass in his hand. He puts it to his sister's lips and she drinks like the solution is liquid oxygen.

"Drink it slowly-about a quarter of it every 15 minutes."

She doesn't listen, and Kenny doesn't bother to do anything, other than picking her up in his arms and laying her down on the comforter and jacket thing that I rigged up just now. I pull the two other blankets around Karen, and I can feel her heart pounding through her clothes. This is a million miles away from the girl I saw yesterday. It must be so horrible for her.

We sit down like that, Kenny to his sister's right, me to her left, and their older brother at her feet: all of us, just sat there watching in the dark and the silence. What we're looking for, I have no clue.

Time goes by, I'm not sure how long. The wind outside howls, and the rain bounces off the sidewalk. The seconds between the thunder and lightning grow shorter and shorter, increasing in volume each time. I'm not even scared of thunder, but I'm scared now. Fear must be contagious.

As there's nothing much else to do, I find myself glancing around Kenny's living room, to try and distract myself. The paint on the walls is blistering and chipped and scuffed in various places; the carpet's got several nasty-looking stains that I don't really want to think about on it...I divert my eyes to the end table behind Kenny, with a cinderblock serving as two of its legs. There are photographs on it. Some of them in frames, others just casually propped up, or wedged between things. I can only really see the three closest to the front in any great detail, so I focus on those.

One of Kenny's parents. God, his mom looks so young-only a couple of years older than I am now. She's quite obviously around 6 months pregnant. Both her hands are resting on her belly, and in her eyes there's a fierce, defiant, protective look. Kenny's dad is standing behind her, with his arms around her hips. They're not even looking at each other; both are just smiling at the camera, but they look so in love...

The one next to it seems to have been taken a few years later. Kevin and his dad are messing around, playing on the floor, while the mom is sort of in the background a bit more. She's smiling as she holds another baby in her arms. Blonde haired with striking blue eyes and an impossibly tiny orange parka. Kenny. Aww, he's so cute in this!

The third picture is almost hidden behind the rest, but if I squint, I can still kind of make it out. It's nowhere near as good quality as the others: it's grainy, and slightly out of focus. The bright auburn of Mrs McCormick's hair is the only thing that separates her from the pale whitish grey colour of the walls behind her. She's not smiling, and she looks absolutely wretched: pale, exhausted, and with no hope in her eyes at all. She's propped up in what looks to be a hospital bed. In her arms is a newborn baby, all strapped up to machines, which are evidentially keeping it alive. The baby itself is tiny; way smaller than even a newborn should be, and it's mother is clinging onto it, like she could never bear to let go. I can just make out the name on the edge of the bed, "Karen McCormick."

As I stare at the picture, Kenny's words from yesterday run through my mind, _"she was sick all the time... everyone thought she wasn't going to live longer than six months."_

Is that it then? Why she's so small, and so slightly stunted-looking? Why she tries to act tough in front of people?

I don't know.

As the rolls of the thunder gradually grow quieter, Karen's breathing grows stronger, more even. I put my hand on her wrist. Her pulse is dropping back to normal. Now that her fear has passed, she just seems to be sleepy. Her eyelids droop as she slides further down the makeshift bed and her expression changes to that of someone at peace.

"Kenny...Wen'y...Kev...?"

"Yes?"

"Thanks..."Her speech is starting to slur with tiredness, "you...you were good...real good..."

Her eyes close properly, as she finally starts to breathe normally and fall off to sleep. I tuck the covers around her, shove in a tatty old ragdoll that's lying on the couch beside her and, for reasons that I'm still not sure of, kiss her head, making Kenny and Kevin look at me in slight confusion for a moment, before the older brother turns away and walks into the kitchen, leaving me and Kenny alone.

"Well...I uh, I guess I should go home, y'know...parents might be getting worried."

"Oh no, no, yes, I mean. Yeah. N-not that I..._want_ you to go or..."

"I know"

Kenny looks at me, in a startled, confused kind of way,

"huh?"

"No it's- oh, it doesn't matter."

"Wendy?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks. If you hadn't of-"

"Oh, it's no big deal. I barely even did anything. You would have been fine even if I hadn't come. "

"No seriously, Thank you. I really appreciate it."

"Welcome."

There's another slight pause. Then,

"Want me to walk you home? I will if you want."

"Uh...yeah. Yeah, I'd-I'd like that."

"'Kay. Oh wait, your jacket-lemme go and get it."

"No, it's okay, leave it. Let your sister sleep. I'll manage."

"I'll bring it you tomorrow, before school then."

"There's no rush-"

"I know. But I will anyway."

He slips his arm through mine, and a feeling flutters through my stomach. Sort of like butterflies. Similar to what I get around Stan, now that I come to think of it...but no, I'm just cold is all. It's almost midnight now.

We step out into the wind and the chill and the rain, and I get goose-pimply all over. My teeth chatter involuntarily, and I let out a shiver of cold. Kenny notices me, and in a minute, has thrown off his parka, and handed it to me. I start to protest, but Kenny simply puts his arms around me and pulls it around my shoulders, leaving the hood down. The radiating heat from the parka warms me through and for that one moment, as we stand there, in each other's arms, I forget my worries. For now, I'm just a girl standing under the stars with a really lovely guy, and nothing can possibly go wrong.

A car horn beeps at us, and we both glance up at the glare of headlights. There's a pause, punctuated by the slamming of car doors, and then Stan and his family are standing in front of us, looking slightly confused. Except for Stan himself. He and I may not be going out right now, but he still looks like somebody stabbed him in the back with a stiletto.

His face turns a strange shade of greenish white, as he looks at the pair of us, and tries to gather his words.

"You...hug...alone...here...?"

"Stan, This isn't what it seems like!"

"Yeah-I asked her to come over to teach me how to treat shock, for God's sake."

Stan opens his mouth again, but words fail him still. He pulls off his suit jacket, to reveal a black t-shirt with _"They condemn what they don't understand"_ written on it, then reaches up to swap his blue and red poofball hat for a grey and black one.

He closes his mouth, nods at Kenny and I, and then strides purposely towards Benny's across the street.

The Goth kids are sitting outside. From my position, I hear their leader, the curly haired boy say in his gravelly, nasal voice, "So...your girlfriend loves that blonde-haired Justin-Timberlake- wannabe over there?"

Kenny loses patience at this point, "For Fuck's sake! I don't love Wendy, and she doesn't love me. If I'm lying about either of us, may God strike me dead!"

Stan seems to consider these words. I think it's safe to say we've convinced him. Or...we would have, if Kenny had not just been struck dead by lightning...

It's nothing. Just a coincidence.

Oh God...


	4. Chapter 4

**I honestly didn't mean to leave it this late. But life, it seems is determined to screw me over. I've been on vacation, come back, been ill a few times, had family problems, school problems, friend problems and God only knows what else. Thanks for all the reviews I got last chapter-the compliments and criticisms were much appreciated...and will be for this one too. Seriously, I love getting reviews, even negative ones, as long as they're constructive, so don't hesitate to tell me if you like it or if you don't.**

**I'm actually wondering about making the end bit a separate chapter. Tell me what you think, and if the majority think I should, I'll move it**

**South Park, it's characters and all it's glory © Matt Stone and Trey Parker  
**

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Oh fuck. This isn't going to be entirely awkward.

It's not like me and Stan have stopped being friends, exactly. It's just that something tells me that going to Stan's for dinner not even a week after he's seen his ex hugging me on my doorstep, wearing my jacket instead of her own, in the middle of the night is not exactly a tactful, or indeed a particularly wise thing to do.

Least he's stopped wearing guyliner and quoting Edgar Allan Poe every five minutes. Kyle bitched at him until he stopped, then at me, for being insensitive to Stan's feelings (I still don't understand exactly how trying to look after your family is insensitive, but whatever) and then at Fatass, for trying to steal his homework. So then we were all pissed off, and the circle of life was complete. But I digress.

The point is that Stan's still acting kind of...offhand with me, even though I've told him repeatedly why Wendy was there in the first place, and that the lightning thing was just a fluke; probably God or Damien's sick idea of a joke.

I would just not go, but, to be frank, I'm sick of waffles and pop tarts, both of which have been burnt to a crisp annoyingly often lately. The Marshes have decent food, which usually contains some form of nutrients and, if I'm honest, I miss being close to Stan. I know I'll never be equal to Kyle in the whole stupid BFF thing, but he's still one of my best friends, and I don't feel right knowing that he's still annoyed and suspicious of me. Maybe tonight will give me a chance to patch things up or something gay like that.

Not to mention my siblings wouldn't forgive me if I was the reason they had to stay home-they're as eager for food which actually COULD prevent them from contracting scurvy as I am. Plus for Kevin, the Marsh's house has another little...attraction. Shelley, to be exact. I have no idea why, but for some reason that violent, bad-tempered metal-mouth can turn him into a speechless, drooling zombie at ten paces. We've given up teasing him about it though: it's not fair to tease a man who's in love that desperately and earnestly. Plus he didn't get that we actually were ripping on him, which sucked the fun out of things.

"Kenny, c'mon, I'm HUNGRY!"

"Yeah, Kenny. I wanna go eat some food!"

"SHUT UP! I'm coming!"

I throw on a clean-ish shirt and pull my parka over it, which kind of makes the whole operation redundant. There's no real point dressing up: it's only the Marshes. This apparently hasn't occurred to my brother, who's gone and put on his suit, in an effort to impress Shelley. Aww, cute-he's done his hair and everything. Better do something about that. I jump on his back and scruff his hair back into the normal crazy spikes of dishwasher blonde. Kevin shoves me off, and aims a punch at my shoulder.

"KINNY! 'tcha do that for?! Frickin' sunuvabitch!

"You don't want her to think you _like _her do you?"

"But I _do_ like 'er."

"You can't let HER know that! It'll put her off!"

"Will it???" Kevin looks worried. He might be four years older, but he still takes me at my word for everything.

"Oh yeah-trust me, take the tie and jacket off-roll the sleeves up, Kev-and she'll be all over you, honestly."

"Will I get...get laid?"

"Uh...sure."

For someone who reads as many dirty magazines as I do, he sure is clueless about these things. Not that I can blame him really. When Mom bullied our dad into telling Kevin about sex and shit, Dad's response was to hand Kevin that month's copy of _Zoo_, clap him on the shoulder and say, "Page 18, kiddo. Gemme a beer, will y'?"

The dog's in heat, and so is being a horny bastard and trying to fuck everything. He's already managed to knock the cinder block out from under the table, breaking the empty scotch bottles that were lying on top of it, and creating even more mess for us to be surrounded by. To try and stop Buddy (Budweiser, don't ask) breaking anything else, we try and tie him to the legs of the chair, using Kevin's abandoned tie as a leash. It doesn't work. Two minutes and one broken lamp later, we decide it'll be easier just to take the stupid mutt with us.

Considering the Marshes live right across the train tracks and are practically our next-door neighbours, it sure as hell takes long enough to get there. Godamnit.

Stan's mom opens the door. She looks slightly confused, but I suppose opening the door to a small child yelling, "Stop trying to rape the fucking mailbox!!" to a dog that's almost as big as she is will have that effect on people.

"Oh. Uh...you kids are here for dinner, right?"

I nod. Mrs Marsh eyes Buddy wearily, but, to her credit, is a good sport about it,

"Come on in then. Shelley and Stan are in the living room if you all want to go through."

I don't know if it's just me, but I always feel kind of strange when I go to any of the guys' houses, especially Stan's. Not for any bad reason, but just because their houses are so different to mine. Stan's is practically next door to us, yet while my house is filthy, cramped and falling to pieces Stan's is clean, comfortable and open plan. It's funny to think that, if things had been different, it could've been me living here, living the good life with my x-box and floorboards that don't give way under foot, and him living in a clubhouse, eating frozen waffles and having Kyle's mom keeping one eye fixed on him constantly.

Not that I want to trade. While I don't exactly love my house to death, I've grown accustomed to it. Kind of like Stockoholm Syndrome.

From the doorstep, I hear the faint strains of Mirror People by Love and Rockets. It was the first song Stan mastered on Guitar Hero 5. If he's stressed, or pissed off, he plays the ones he's already good at. Don't know why. I guess attempting a new one would drive him over the edge of insanity or something.

We step inside, as Shelley whacks Stan over the head with the spare guitar,

"SHUT UP TURD!!"

Stan clutches his head (I'm pretty sure the guitar now has a crack right up the middle now),

"The hell!? What was that for?"

Shelley inhales deeply through her nose as though Stan has said something incredibly offensive and/or stupid, and grabs hold of Stan's ears, twisting them. He winces, and tries to move away, but his sister keeps hold of him,

"Now, turd. What time is it?"

"I...just-"

"I THAID WHAT TIME IS IT!!!"

"8:15, ma'am."

"And what happens at 8:15 every Tuesday and Wednesday?!"

"T-The Russell Crowe show?"

Shelley lets go of Stan's ears (which have turned a pretty painful-looking shade of red) and shoves him to the floor.

"That'th right. Now be a good little turd an-" Shelley cuts herself off, as she sees us, "Oh hey Kevin. You with your turdish thiblings?"

"Y-yes ma'am."

"Poor you. But it gets better-you jutht have to know how to deal with them. Like this."

Shelley gives Stan a kick in the ribs, causing him to groan with pain. Poor kid. Just hope I'm never on the receiving end of-

Kevin shoves me to the floor, and kicks me. In the ribs. The fucking betraying douchebag. I must remember to do the same for him some time-

Holy God that's painful. Why did my dad have to decide it was about time Kevin got some proper boots? As in combat boots? Ow, fuck.

As Stan and I are lying, sprawled out and groaning in pain on the floor, Shelley motions for Kevin to follow her, and the pair of them leave the room. Teenagers are fucking weird. Hope I never become one (I do look forward enormously to the sex part of adolescence but that seems to be all that puberty has going for it if I'm honest).

Well, time to start getting back on Stan's good side,

"Hey Stan-How's it going?"

"I think I may have some form of concussion."

"Well, 'least you're not dead. That's gotta be something, huh?"

Stan rolls onto his side to face me and gives me a Look. I raise my eyebrows apologetically (not like he can see much else of my face). He sighs, and props himself up onto his elbows.

"So what do you want to do then, now you're here?"

I decide to avoid mentioning Guitar Hero. "Uh...you got any new games?"

"Nah...I've been saving up for other stuff..." He looks away from me, "I was thinking about maybe asking Wendy if I can take her out some place. Movies or something." He laughs humourlessly, "She'd probably want to go and see that piece of shit, New Moon. I mean, I'd even sit through it and bear it, if she were with me. But I don't think she's interested in me anymore. I mean, what happened the other day..."

"Stan. The other day. You know why she was there. You know why I was hugging her. I would...I would never do that to you. Only complete scumbags mess around with the girl that one of their best friends likes."

My stomach clenches as I say this. I don't know why I even feel guilty. As I said, nothing happened. Must just be a result of eating nothing but breakfast products for nearly a whole week. Yeah, that'll be it. The carbon (from them being burnt so often)'s probably done something to my stomach. Which will most likely be fatal. Perfect.

Stan just looks at me. His eyes stare straight into mine, trying to figure me out. I look straight back at him. He looks away first. I stand up, and offer him my hand,

"Bros before hoes then?"

"I'll pretend you didn't just say something as corny and unoriginal as that. But in essence, yeah. Bros before hoes."

He takes my hand and pulls himself up. If this were one of those cheesy, feel-good, irritating-as-hell romance/friendship movies that always seem to be showing around mid-October, there'd be some kind of soft music playing, with soft-focus camera work. As it happens, we have to make do with Stan's dad's phone conversation in the background, and quite a bit of banging around upstairs. Ah well.

Ew, gross. Shelley and Kevin went upstairs. Oh God, that's sick! The same thought must've occurred to Stan, since he's turned quite pale, and seems to be having respiratory problems.

Stan's mom comes into the room, and shouts up the stairs, "Guys, Lasagne's ready!"

There's some more scuffling and banging, and then my brother and Stan's sister come downstairs. Kev's shirt's buttoned up wrongly, and Shelley's hair's all messed up. Ew.

Wait, that's odd. There's more weird noises, yet everyone else is down here. What's makin-?

Oh.

That would explain things...

Sparky and Buddy come out onto the landing. Buddy mounts Sparky and proceeds to hump him like a fucking gorilla. Alrighty then, we now have a gay dog. Excellent. Funny, since I saw him screwing Lola's prissy beagle, Daisy, the other day...Guess we just have a slutty dog. Even better.

We sit down, all of us trying to avoid looking at our two dogs. Grandpa Marsh wheels himself in, takes in the pair of them and scowls,

"Everyone's a fucking fag these days..."

Mr Marsh shoots him a disapproving look, as his wife sets the plates on the table. Stan's family don't pray before meals, so we just dive right in. I'm aware that my family tend to eat like starving people, but that's just 'cause we are. If eating large amounts of actual food isn't something that you get to do every day, then you don't eat it neatly when you have to opportunity to-you just stuff it in your mouth, as fast as you can.

There's a knock at the door. For a second, no one reacts, intending to leave it. Then there's another knock. And another. Whoever it is isn't going to go away any time soon. Mrs Marsh sighs, stands up, and walks back through the living room to the front door.

For a minute, we all just carry on eating, as we hear Stan's mom unlocking the door. And then,

"Oh hello, Wendy. I haven't seen you in a while."

"Hi, Mrs Marsh. Is Stan home?"

Fuck. This is just what I need right now, when I've finally managed to clear the air with Stan.

"Well, he's just eating dinner, Wendy. But if you want to wait, then I'm sure he'd be glad to see you. "

"Thanks."

Karen glances at me, and opens her mouth to say something. I give her a quick kick under the table. I don't need her saying anything stupid right now.

By the time we've finished, I feel even more pissed off. I have no idea why, but something tells me this isn't going to end well for someone.

I can't really stay at the table when everyone else's gone back into the living room. So I drag myself to my feet and walk slowly to the armchair and watch the scene between Stan and Wendy (who're both on the couch) unfold.

"Stan. We need to talk."

"O-okay."

"About us."

"Sure."

Wendy sighs, "Stan, I want you to be happy. You know that, right?" She presses on without waiting to hear his answer, "But I really think it's time you and I stopped all this...all these stupid games with each other."

"You're taking me back?"

She shakes her head, "No, Stan. I think it's best we just start again, with a clean slate. We've become so focused on the relationship that was between us that we're letting it cloud our judgement. If we spend more time apart from each other and then start afresh when we're ready, then we both can grow as people, and then if we decide to make another go of things, then things between us will be stronger, yes?"

The girl's got a way with words. She wants to be a senator. She told us back in third grade, when we all had to give speeches on what career we hoped to have in the future. She'll be damn good at it, that's for sure. Here she is basically telling Stan that she'll be avoiding him for the foreseeable future, and he's nodding like an idiot. My fists clench involuntarily. I stand up,

"Hey Stan, dude, It's getting late now. I think it's best if we started back home."

"Okay, Kenny."

"Kevin, Karen, C'mon. We've stayed too long a'eady."

My siblings make their way into the room, Kevin still with Shelley wrapped around him. They proceed to make out for a further five minutes and then disentangle themselves. As we're about to walk out the door, I hear Wendy say, from behind us,

"Oh it _is _late. I think it'd be better if I left, myself. Bye Stan."

"My Dad'll give you a ride if you hang on a sec-"

"Oh no, no. I don't want to be a bother. I'm heading the same way as Kenny anyway."

Like Hell she is. I feel Stan's look on the back of my neck. I force myself not to show any outward signs of surprise. A moment, which seems like eternity passes before Stan sighs slightly,

"Alright then. Night Wendy, Night Ken."

We both smile and nod and thank Stan's parents for having us. I wait until I'm outside, and the door is shut. I turn to Kevin,

"You take Karen and head on, I'll be there in a minute."

"Well, we kin, we kin wait-"

"Just go on. This won't take long."

My brother looks at me strangely for a second, then shrugs his shoulders, and walks back in the direction of our house, holding our sister's hand in his. I turn back to Wendy.

"What the Hell was that all about?!"

She frowns, "Excuse me?"

"That, in there? Why the fuck d'you have to come over and say all that t'Stan?! While I'm there! He's not been talking to me properly in a week, cause he thinks I'm fuckin' around with you. Tonight, I'd just managed to get things straight, and then you have to come and mess it all up again!"

"Kenny, what on Earth are you talking abou-?"

"Why tonight, huh, Wendy? You trying to use me to get Stan to leave you alone?"

"No! Look, Kenny, I don't know what's going through your head right now, but I've been meaning to talk to Stan for a while now. The fact that you were there is purely coincidental."

"The Hell it was!"

She looks at me straight, with fire blazing in her eyes, "Kenny. Believe it or not, I am not that kind of person. I would not use someone else as an excuse to get someone to stay away from me. If you honestly think that little of me, then I see no point in continuing this conversation." She turns on her heel, her long silky hair hitting me in the face with a blast of Sea Chi Organics Shampoo, and walks away.

The feeling of being an asshole seems to occur pretty often when in the company of Wendy Testaburger, it seems.

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.

That night, I lay in bed, trying to figure it out. What it means, this Dream.

Understand that I'm not one of those people who think everything is symbolic and who analyse their dreams to death (Like Kyle-he spent three quarters of an hour trying to figure out what his dream of Bebe having a crush on him meant, for fuck's sake). I mean, I rarely even HAVE dreams-I'm usually dead when I should be sleeping- but when I do have them, they're never of the deep and meaningful kind. They usually mirror the cartoons in Playboy magazines: a vague sort of storyline, drifting towards a climax where someone gets their boobs out (In glorious Technicolor).

But for the last few days, I've had the same dream over and over.

It always starts with a castle with a broken door. It's permanently raining in this dream, and everything surrounding it is in shades of black, grey and white.

Then the dream changes scenes, to a girl, whose face I've never seen in all of the time I've been having these dreams. I only ever see her from behind, and all I ever know about her is that she's a princess. In her hands, she's holding a tin, with the lid on (It's padlocked shut-I have no idea why).

She clings onto it for a few seconds and then shoves it roughly into the bundle she's carrying on her back. She signs her name (which I can never make out) on a piece of paper, maybe a letter or something, and goes to look out of the window. She sees the rain, goes to pick up her coat, but then leaves it, and starts to walk out the door, only to be stopped by a pair of guards, who are dragging someone along by the front of his clothes. Strangely enough they look like Kyle and Stan's dads, but whatever. The girl (who I still only have a rear view of-quite a nice rear view but still) has a silent but fierce argument with them, and gestures towards their prisoner. The guard who looks like Mr Marsh drags the guy up to look her in the eyes by yanking on his hair forcefully. He looks up. And...it's me.

I'm begging and pleading with the woman, gesturing like a maniac, screaming stuff that the real me can't hear, because my stupid self has to dream in the silent-movie genre. I pull out a pouch, and throw it at her feet. The Kyle's dad guard says something to the girl, who shakes her head and turns to leave. I still don't see her face, and I'm dragged away, still yelling the whole way.

And then I wake up.

As per usual. God, I'm thinking way too much about this. I curl up on my side, and try and sleep some more. Wish I had some new bed sheets. The rats have started gnawing on the ends of these ones.

Takes a few minutes, but eventually, I'm back in dream land. Let's see what fun the dream makers have in store for Kenny this evening...Damnit. Same dream again. Everything happens as it's meant to: girl shakes head, turns to leave, I get yanked away...but wait. Tonight's different. When I scream, she turns around. I see her face for a split second. Actually, that's not right. I don't see her face. Not all of it. Just the eyes. But it's enough. They're full of fear and anger and regret, almost to a point where they're unrecognisable. But I'd know those eyes anywhere.

Why am I dreaming about Wendy's eyes?


	5. Chapter 5

**Guys...what can I say? I'm really, really sorry for leaving it this long. I've had my laptop back since New Year's Eve, and my only reason for not updating is my own laziness and problems with procrastination. I already have the next chapter in the works, so it definitely won't take as long. **

**Thank you so much to **Caturday** for writing me the ending to this chapter. You said I could edit it as I saw fit, so I did. I hope you don't mind or anything. Also thanks for making me get off my lazy ass and write. Thanks also to Willow, **Cartooncutie17**and **JVM-SP150**for nagging me to get this finished just now.**

**South Park and Characters © Matt Stone and Trey Parker.

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_Thunk...thunk...thunk..._

Jesus Christ, what now? I pull myself onto my feet, get my foot tangled in my sheets, fall flat on my face, curse a few times and use the window ledge to haul myself up. Which isn't the best idea I've ever had. The wood's rotted, and a big chunk of the ledge comes away in my hands. I toss it down next to my suitcase/dresser-I'll glue it back on or something once I've dealt with whatever retardedness is outside.

Yank the window open...God, how long's it been since this last got opened? Stiff as Kevin with a stack of playboys...

I look out, freezing cold wind blowing against my face. No one there...or there...but then-

"Right Here."

Oh good grief. What's she doing here?

Wendy takes a few steps forward with a face like thunder, lips pressed tight together. She looks at me and her eyes widen.

Oh crap. Forgot I'm only wearing underwear. Well it's not like I expect random girls to come over in the middle of the night or anything (wouldn't have any objections normally, so long as said girl is reasonably attractive-although to be fair, Wendy is pretty damn hot- and would be willing to actually GIVE ME SOME WARNING).

I pull part of my curtain around my torso in a vague attempt at modesty, realise it's as about as effective as a windshield wiper on a goat's ass, and instead cross my arms over my chest.

"W-what do you want, Wendy?"She blinks again, "Oh come on, I ain't _that_ funny-lookin'!"

"No, I-it's just...this is the first time I've seen and heard you without-" She shakes herself, and goes back to looking pissed again, "I'm here so you can apologise to me."

"What makes you think I'm gonna?"

Good God, I sound like my dad when my mom's mad at him. Wendy narrows her eyes at me,

"**Because**," she says, her voice soft and dangerous, "If you do not, I will come in there and **make** you apologise. You were unspeakably rude to me, for no good reason, and so I feel you should say sorry to me."

"Bu-But, you...you were trying to mess things up, 'tween me and Stan!"

She sighs, and closes her eyes in exasperation,

"Kenny, contrary to what you seem to think, I have way better things to do than to drive you and Stan apart. If I wanted to do that, I would at least come up with a more effective way of doing so. And I don't. So, are you going to say you're sorry, or am I coming in there?"

God's sake.

"Two minutes"

She folds her arms, and leans back against the pile of tyres behind her. I can tell just by looking at her that she ain't going anywhere. Shit.

I scrabble around in the darkness for my pants and parka. Why the hell has she even come here? Is she really that pissed off at me? Or does she just make a habit of showing up at the houses of people who've wronged her and demanding apologies? I glance at my watch. 3 AM. Maybe she's an insomniac or something. Or on some form of medication that fucks up her sleep schedule. But either way, why on Earth has she come down here? Couldn't she wait until school tomorrow to bitch at me?

I will never be able to figure out the way some girls' minds work. Judging by some of the fucking weird-ass shit they do, I doubt I want to be able to.

I pull on socks that I'm not sure are clean, and shoes, and head to the front door, tripping over one of the cats...which, for some reason has the keys in its mouth. I manage to get the keys away from it and open the door.

Damn, it's cold. Wendy doesn't seem to mind though. In fact she seems surprisingly at ease sat on a stack of tyres.

"Well, Kenny?"

"I'm. Sorry."

"What was that, Kenny? Didn't quite hear you"

"I'm truly sorry from the bottom of my heart to have offended you, Miss Testaburger. I am forever indebted to-"

She cracks a smile at long last, "No need for sarcasm. But I forgive you."

"How gratifying for one to know."

"Sarcastic Bastard." She says, not really sounding too bothered about it. She gets up off the tyres, "Want to go for a walk?"

"Uh...Wendy? Not sure what time you're working in, but it's kind of 3AM."

She shrugs, "And?"

"And...Normal people don't go for walks at 3AM, last I noticed."

"So? Fuck being normal!"

She's cracked. I think the pressures of being class president, volunteering at animal shelters and signing petitions to free Tibet have gotten to her at long last. She sees me looking at her, unsure if I should call a mental health specialist to see what's gotten into her, or not. She laughs slightly and holds out her hand,

"Come on, it'll be fun!"

I don't know makes me shrug and put my hand in hers. But I do. And somehow the night seems a bit less cold.

We walk along the street. I pretend not to notice that Wendy goes right, towards Stark's Pond, rather than back towards Stan's. For a few minutes there's silence, and I'm weirdly reminded of the first time Wendy came over. It seems like an eternity's passed since then. Your perception of time gets skewed when you die a lot, I guess.

Just to add to my growing sense of déjà vu, I decide to break the silence,

"So uh..." God, Kenny, you fucking dork, can you NOT say a sentence around this chick that doesn't use the phrase, "so uh..."? It's not like it's hard or anything, "It's...nice out here?"

Oh Bravo, self. Such eloquence.

"Yeah. I like to come here sometimes. Just on my own, y'know?"

"At 3AM?"

"No, don't be stupid."

"Oh yeah, 'cause it's _so _obvious that you _don't_ make a habit of this kind of-"

Wendy grins and gives me a shove. I go to shove her back, but end up somehow with my hand in her armpit (which is actually not as gross as you'd imagine-Cartman was obviously lying when he said she hadn't shaved her armpits since she was a foetus). She sees this, and tenses her arm, trapping my hand. Well, fuck this; I'm not losing to a girl. There's only one way out of this (that won't get me killed or arrested) and that is tickling.

Jeez...who knew Wendy was actually ticklish...and actually capable of acting like...well, this. "This" being screaming like she's being murdered, whilst writhing around like a mad woman. I hope to God no one can hear this: People don't tend to start thinking what a great guy you are when they hear a woman screaming in a secluded area, in your company. In fact, I'm pretty sure you can still get lynched for that kind of thing.

Nah. There's just us. We own the night...unless, of course, it's already copyright to Disney, which is fairly probable. Soon Wendy succumbs to my swift fingers and topples over on her back

"Kenny... stop it... please," she hiccups between laughs. _Stop it, _as if.

"Say uncle," I order to the girl, who is trashing around on the floor.

"I... I..." she stutters, but the words get driven down her throat by fresh fits of laughter. She is gasping for breath. Suddenly she looks so... vulnerable. Is this the same Wendy that just gave me those death glares while holding me against my will to say sorry?

"Say it!"

"I... Un- Uncle," she manages to let out. Good enough for me. I relent, allowing Wendy, who is still giggling, to get back on her feet.

"A worthy foe," I assure her, "You lasted longer than Cartman, anyway."

As she dusts off her clothes, I salute, and then reach to shake her hand. "Come, let us discuss the terms of your surrender."

"Discuss the _whats _of _what_?"

"Spoils of war, m'dear," I state. "Now, I heard you once took part in a sponsored pancake baking thing."

"Maybe," she shrugs, "so?"

"Paaancakes," I drool. I glance down at my slick fingers. Come on, Wendy, deny me the pancakes. I dare you. I _double _dare you.

"Fine," Wendy gives in, "but you keep _quiet_, all right? If my parents wake up, I'm blaming you."

Score! Hot, delicious pancakes at 3AM, what can possibly top that?Feeling happier than I have for days, I skip towards Wendy's house. I am hopping ten paces in front of her, occasionally spinning around and shouting back to her, "Hurry up, woman. Those cakes aren't going to bake themselves!"

Okay, so why the fuss, Kenny? I s'pose it's just the whole 'being poor' thing that makes me giddy whenever food is involved, especially sweet food. I've been living on frozen breakfast products for a week, give me a break. Oh God, I can practically smell those pancakes. I can see them in my mind right now. And Wendy smiling at me, dousing them with so much syrup (the decent kind too, not the stuff we have that tastes like engine oil, that we use if we need a cheap substitute for glue) that they'd send Scott Malkinson into a diabetic coma . Two radiant eyes that cut through the darkness around me.

No wait, those aren't imaginary. They are lights. Very real, very bright headlights. And they're coming straight at me.

For chrissake, not _now..._

Crap.


	6. Chapter 6

**I'mma stop promising updates sooner. I am not giving up on this, but these last few months have been really bad for me, and until the end of June, I have my GCSE exams. Thank you so, so much to everyone who's reviewed so far, and I am so sorry that I keep letting you down with these review this if you like it-or if you don't. Just tell me what you think. It's the only way I'll improve.**

**South Park and all characters © Matt Stone and Trey Parker**

* * *

I wake up on the sidewalk outside my house. It's still dark- I'd guess around 5 or 6AM- and freezing. I stand up, clicking my joints back into place as I do. As I'm working on getting the crick out of my spine, I feel something poking me in the stomach. I stare down at my front. For God's sake, I wish people would stop pinning flyers to me while I'm dead (unless they're the type with money-off coupons for Shakey's attached-can never have too many of those). I reach down and tug off the...pink Hello Kitty barrette...clipping the note to my parka. Fuck's sake, if they want to give my sister Stupid Spoiled Whore ads, why can't they just wait for her to die and resurrect? It's not happened yet, but it probably will some day...

Oh. Okay, not Stupid Spoiled Whore then. At least, I doubt that store writes on Star Wars printed notepaper...

_Your destiny lies with me, McCormick. Join me and together we..._

_Damnit-just meet me by the swings at recess tomorrow. And can you bring the hair clip back? It's Esther's and she'll be pissed if I lose it._

_Thanks _

_Anon._

Kevin Stoley's so not cut out to be threatening. I smile to myself, and go inside the house, to try and cram in an hour or so of sleep before school.

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.

The next day, at recess, I wait by the swings. For a whole ten minutes. And still Kevin hasn't shown, the bastard. I've been stood here, looking like a loner and possibly a pervert (well, okay, I did take a look up Heidi's skirt while she was swinging, but it's not like I _saw_ anything) for the whole of recess.

There's no way in hell I'm getting stood up by Kevin Stoley. I walk over to where a group of the girls are sitting around, reading Esther's tarot cards (Sally and Annie), messing with each other's hair, (Kal and Millie) or just talking. Bebe and a ginger-haired girl who I don't know seem to be having some kind of argument,

"Bebe, I'm just saying, there are way better musicals than High School Musical. Like Wicked. It's awesome, honestly. _Wizard of Oz_ but from the witch's point of view."

"Yes, but does it have Zac Efron?"

"Well, no but-"

"I'm not interested."

"But-"

"Not. Interested."

I pull my attention back to the matter at hand, and turn to face Esther. She looks up and smiles at me, shuffling her cards.

"Hey Kenny. Want to see what's around the corner for you?"

Esther Stoley's a nice girl. Just a bit weird with it. So's Kevin, to be honest, but Esther's kookiness seems to be embraced amongst the girls, whereas her twin is lucky if he only gets told to shut the fuck up twice in one day. I suppose quirky, artistic, pseudo-spirituality is just more acceptable than being a hardcore Star Wars fanboy, like her brother. She's the kind of girl who thinks that everything has hidden meaning, who always wants to know stuff about herself and other people. You'd have thought she'd have realised that I know _exactly_ what's around the corner-poptarts, frozen waffles and some form of horribly graphic death-but apparently not.

"No thanks, Es. You know where Kevin is? He was meant to meet me, but he didn't show."

"Oh, I think I saw him over by the benches, with some kid. You sure about the cards? I see love in your future."

"Yeah, I'm sure my parents love me very much, thanks. See you around."

I wander over to the benches, where, true enough, Kevin is being a starwhore, and playing lightsabers with some other unknown kid.

"I'll never join you!"

"If you only knew the power of the dark side. Obi-Wan never told you what happened to your father."

Good grief. I thought Kevin was the sole Star Wars nerd in the school. Looks like I was wrong. I should probably warn the student body, but right now I can't be assed. I clear my throat.

"He told me enough! He told me you killed-Oh hey, Kenny."

"Hey Kevin. Remember our little meeting?"

"Oh yeah. Sorry, I just kinda forgot."

"Not a very Jedi-like thing to do, Kev. Yoda'd be disappointed."

I have no idea what I'm talking about, but Kevin actually shuffles his feet and looks embarrassed. In the awkward silence that follows, the other kid messes with the switch on his lightsabre, and whistles what vaguely sounds like the theme from Animaniacs. Kevin and I both turn to look at him.

"Uh, kid? You mind giving us a little privacy?"

"Awh..." The kid puts the lightsabre back on his belt and mooches off. We both stare after him for a moment, more for something to do than anything else, and then turn back towards each other.

"So. Kevin. Whaddya want from me?"

"Well uh...y'see, it's like...in a way, sort of a bit like, well, you know, don't you?"

"Oh well, it's hit me, now you've put it like that. Fuck's sake Kevin, just say what you mean."

"Yeah, well, like I said, it's sort of-"

"In sentences of ten words or less preferably."

"Okay...okay. Well, I like...this girl. She's amazing and gorgeous and smart and just...But she'd never go for me. A half-witted, scruffy-looking Nerf herder. But...I still want her to know. Just....so I know where I stand."

"Well, okay then. Who's this girl?"

"Well, she happens to like nice men..."

"A name'd be nice."

"R-Red. I-I like Red."

"So? What's the problem? Just tell her."

"I can't."

"Why? Why can't you just try and tell her you like her?"

"There is no try. Do...or do not. There is no try."

"Well, for the love of God, DO tell her then."

"But I-I can't. I can't do it right."

"Do what right? It's not that hard to go up to a girl and say, "I think you're hot. Wanna go to the movies with me?"."

"No...you don't understand. She's-She's my best friend. Since we were born: we've grown up together. It'll just kriff everything up!"

"It'll....? No, don't bother explaining: I don't want to know. But dude, seriously, you're just going to not tell her...ever?"

"Well, yeah."

"That's retarded. For God's sake, Kevin. You've got to tell her some way."

"But how?"

"Hell, I don't know. Spray it on a wall, in day-glo paint, in 4 feet high letters if you have to."

"Sorry Kenny. I just can't. You can think of something though, right?"

"I can?"

"Thanks Ken! I knew you wouldn't let me down!"

He starts to walk away.

"Hey wait!"

He doesn't turn around.

"Kevin! Dude! Come back here!"

Nothing. Goddamnit. I flop down on the grass, despite the bell ringing. I really can't be bothered with class right now. Fricking starwhore. If he'd just grow a set, then Red'd probably go out with him without a second thought.

Wendy walks across the stretch of grass. I thought she was absent today, but I guess not. She turns her head and looks at me

"Hey Kenny. Hasn't class started yet?"

"Yes." I scowl, without looking up at her.

"What are you doing out here then?"

"I'm pissed off."

She sits down on the snowy earth next to me, "What's wrong?"

I look up at her, with the intention of telling her to piss off. But then...she looks at me. Looks at me, with those big brown eyes, and I feel my irritation ebb away.

"Kevin Stoley. He has a boner for Red, and asked me for help, but he won't take my advice and fuckin' tell her."

"Well, he should tell her. If he doesn't, he'll regret it."

"That's what I said, but he wouldn't listen!"

"Well, I guess I could talk to him, if you wanted me to."

"I dunno. He might not want to talk to you, no offense. He sent me a note, this morning, asking me to come and talk to him on my own. Has Esther mentioned anything about it to you?"

"No. She doesn't tend to mention Kevin much."

"Well, do you know if Red likes anyone?"

"She doesn't talk much about it but she's hinted a few times that she likes Kevin."

I throw my hands in the air in frustration, "So why doesn't she do anything about it either?"

"Because she's afraid of rejection"

"Those two really are made for each other, huh? They even have the same damn reason for not asking each other on a date. And they expect ME to fix it all!"

"You don't have to agree to it Kenny."

"It's that or looking like a douche if I don't. I mean seriously. How do you set those two up? It's like getting my parents to not fight for five damn minutes"

"Blind Date?" Wendy suggests, tilting her head to the side, "It worked for Teresa and Dave that one time."

"Yeah, because Kevin's so likely to agree to that, right?" I mutter under my breath. For someone so smart, Wendy really can be incredibly clueless at times.

She scowls at me, "You know what Kenny you're acting like a real jerk Don't fucking blame me because you don't like my ideas-you can come talk to me again when you've stopped acting like a fucking douchebag" she snaps, before storming off. Goddamnit.

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.

I skulk back into class, ten minutes late. No one notices. I sit at his desk, scowling whilst inventing some ..."creative" answers for the fractions that Garrison's chalked on the board. I suppose I'd better make up with Wendy. Last thing I need's her turning up at my house at some ungodly hour, like last night, as fun as that was (the pre-becoming roadkill part anyway). I rip out a page of my maths book, taking care not to be seen by Garrison (who's in a foul mood, and reading a Cosmopolitian), and scrawl a note, "Wendy, sorry for being a douche. Don't stay mad, I need your help. Kenny x" I'm not sure why I add the kiss, but it seems more likely to make him forgive him. My dad always puts a kiss on notes to my mom for that exact reason.

Oh crap. I have to pass this to Wendy, without Stan noticing. I look up at him, and wait till he turns to look out the window, and toss onto her desk. She scans it, writes something, folds it and passes it back. I read it:

"Not my fault you're a grouchy asshole today. Stop passing notes."

I force myself to stop and think before I write down exactly what I'm thinking right now. I need to be careful here. I force myself to be civil.

"Look, I'm sorry for being rude to you. I've had a rough night, and then this morning Karen was sick, so I'm kinda worried about her. I'll try to mind my manners if you help me out. x"

Well, the basic facts are true; even if the truth is that I really AM just being a grouchy asshole.

Wendy seems to be giving a little now. She hesitates for a second, before writing her reply, which I read at once. It's more interesting than top-heavy fractions, anyway.

"I'll believe that when I see it. Fine, I'll hold you to that: meet me after school- my house, don't be late."

Damn, could have gotten those pancakes she owes me. My sister had to be ill today, didn't she?

"But I have to check my sister's okay...Can we do my place instead?"

"Yeah, whatever."

I'm about to write back again,when Garrison suddenly slams down his magazine (which seems to have some disturbing-looking porn hidden inside),

"KENNY MCCORMICK, YOU STOP PASSING NOTES, Y'LI'L BASTARD!"

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.

Wendy and I walk home, in silence this time. I force the door open with my shoulder, and step in, pulling Wendy after me. Karen's lying on the couch, looking bored, with dark circles under her eyes. She should be better soon, hopefully. I shove the door shut. She winces, and pulls the blankets tighter around her.

"Hey you. Feelin' any better?"She shakes her head, and shivers. "Try an' sleep then. Mom said she'd call tonight. If you want them to come home, just tell her."

Karen closes her eyes, coughs a few times and then is quiet. I turn to Wendy,

"So what shall we do about Kevin??"

"I have no clue."

"Me neither"

"Do they have any common interests?"

"Well, what do you know about Red?"

"She's self-conscious; thinks no boy'll ever like her, even though she's had more boyfriends than most of us. She reads those trashy romance novels, which I personally don't like because I think they're anti-femini-"

"Wendy? Can we get back to Red, please?"

"Well have you read those things? They totally _are_! But anyway, Red. Uh...She's been friends with Kevin a long time-since they were little kids, I think. Don't you remember, until late on in third grade, they were _always _together?"

"Yeah...whatever happened with that?

"He got drunk, boned her and made her get an abortion?"

"Kenny! Don't be gross! I don't really know what happened...just grew apart I guess. Anyway, Kevin, what do you know about him?"

"He's a sci-fi nerd, who gets motion sickness?"

"Anything that could actually be pertinent in this situation?"

"...probably not. We'll have to try and find out some stuff."

"We?"

I shrug, "Every plan I've made recently that doesn't involve you seems to have backfired. Maybe should try including you, see what happens?"

She nods, acting like I've not done anything more remarkable than saying her shirt is nice, but something about her eyes has changed. They're...softer, somehow. Oh maybe they just look that way under fluorescent lighting, who knows?

She looks at her watch, "I might have to go home for dinner soon. Do you have any food in the house?"

"Half a loaf of bread-it's kinda mouldy in one corner, but we can scrape it off-and some chewing gum, ma'am." She pulls a $20 bill from her pocket. I tense, "Wendy. I'm not taking your money."

"Don't be a dumbass, how're you going to survive on bread and gum until your parents get home?"

"Pretty easily. We do it most of the time, actually."

"Not tonight you're not."

"Wendy, for fuck's sake, leave it!"

"No! Either you take this money, or you and I are going grocery shopping, right this minute!"

Karen opens one eye and mutters for us to shut up. We carry on bickering another few minutes, before reverting back to Rock, Paper, Scissors. She wins. I know I should have picked scissors...I take the money from her. I won't spend it. I'm not useless. Wendy should know that. Why does she always think we can't take care of ourselves? I'm trying not to look like I'm mad in front of her, but either she's a really good guesser, or I am completely fucking transparent. Her expression becomes less pissed-looking, and she turns to me,

"If it'll make you take it, you can pay it back."

"How?"

"Oh, I'll think of some way." She smiles, and picks up her school bag, as I walk her to the door. I feel a bit funny actually...maybe I'm gonna catch what my sister has. I'll probably have to go and lie down in a minute. Wendy steps out of the door, but then stops and leans back towards me, kissing me on my cheek. The girls have become obsessed with doing that lately. I think it may possibly have originated at Raisins, although, of course, none of the girls in the class will admit to going there...

Oh God, my stomach...Oh God...

Oh God. I did not just throw up on Wendy Testaburger, did I?

Oh fuck, I'mma be sick again...ew.

Shit. Choking. Fuck, shit. Must. Stop. Choking.

The light closes in. Goddamnit.


End file.
